Bedside Manner
by allthingsdecent
Summary: Cuddy gets sick. House takes care of her. Super duper fluffy.


Bedside Manner

"There's something wrong with this inventory form!" House said, storming into Cuddy's office.

"What?" she said wearily.

"It's not filled out."

"That's because _you're _supposed to fill it out, House. The department heads need to periodically update their inventory. Yours hasn't been updated since 2004."

"Who cares about how many boxes of cotton swabs I . . ." He stopped midsentence and stared at her. "What's wrong with you?" he said.

"What do you mean?"

"You're pale."

He limped up next to her desk, put his hand on her forehead.

"You're burning up. You have a 102 fever."

"House, you can't tell what my fever is based on feeling my forehead."

He shrugged in a way that suggested he could.

"I'm sick," she admitted. "Just a touch of the flu or something. I'll be fine."

"Not if you stay here you won't. You're going home."

"I don't have the luxury of going home," she said, coughing. "I'm needed here."

"Actually, here you'll contaminate the whole hospital. At home, you'll get some _medically necessary_ rest."

"I can't House."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing I have to pick up Rachel from daycare in two hours."

House pulled out his cell phone, dialed a number.

"Julia? House. Lisa's sick. Can you pick up Rachel from daycare and keep her at your place? You can? Great."

He hung up.

"That was hard."

Cuddy's mouth dropped open.

"You just. . .used my first name. I don't think I've ever heard you . . ."

"Too many Cuddys. I didn't want to confuse her. What else?" he asked impatiently.

Cuddy looked at her watch.

"I'm expected in a conference room full of lawyers in 5 minutes. Potential malpractice suit. Trust me when I say, they won't have any compassion for my stuffy nose."

"Got it," House said, limping out of her office.

"House!" she said, alarmed. "Where are you going?"

"To take care of it."

He was back 10 minutes later.

"They'll be happy to reschedule," he said.

"What did you say to them?"

"You don't want to know," he said. "But if they ask about a potential meningitis outbreak in the hospital, just nod and smile."

He was joking_—right_?

"What else?" he said.

She groaned.

"My whole afternoon is filled with appointments."

"Not any more it isn't. I just talked to your assistant. Your schedule has been completely cleared. You have absolutely no excuse not to go home and get some rest, Cuddy."

She slumped her shoulders a bit.

"I am kinda tired," she admitted, rubbing her temples. "Okay, you win. I'm going home. Maybe you ought to sleep at your place tonight so you don't catch my horrible disease."

"Then who's supposed to take care of you?"

Cuddy gave him an incredulous look.

"What? _You're_ going to take care of me?"

"Who else?"

"But you hate sick people," she said, adding ironically, "It's one of the things that makes you different from the other doctors."

"This particular sick person I'll make an exception for," he said. "C'mon. Get your coat."

######

At home, he helped her change into one of his soft concert tees and her LL Bean pajama bottoms and put her into bed. He felt her forehead.

"102.4," he said, sticking a thermometer in her mouth.

"Oh, now you can tell _percentages_ of temperature based on feeling my head?"

"Keep your mouth closed," he said. After two minutes, he pulled out the thermometer, waved it in front of her.

102.4.

When would she learn?

She shuddered a bit.

"You've got chills," he said.

He pulled the blanket up tighter.

He got her a glass of water, gave her some Tamiflu, some aspirin.

"Now sleep!" he said.

She closed her eyes—she was cold and her face felt thick with congestion, but House's t-shirt and the heavy blanket felt good. Almost instantly was asleep.

When she woke up, she heard House banging around the kitchen. Whenever he did anything in the kitchen, it was always such a production.

He came into her room, carrying a mug and a paper bag from the drug store.

He must've gone out while she was sleeping.

"You're awake," he said.

"Ugh, I don't want you to see me like this," she said, covering her face with the blanket.

"You look adorable."

"What part of me looks most adorable?" she said, poking her head out. "My snot-crusted nose, my chapped lips, or my clammy skin?"

"All of it," he said. "Now sit up and drink this."

He propped up her pillow and handed her the steaming mug—it was a tea of some sort, redolent with menthol and herbs.

She took a sip and immediately felt it clearing up her lungs.

"What kind of tea is this?" she asked.

"Special House family recipe," he said. "You like?"

"It's delicious," she said.

"And curative. So drink it all. Also, I got you some of those stupid girly magazines you read when you think no one is looking," he said.

He tossed some Cosmos on the bed.

"I already filled out a quiz in one of them," he informed her. "_Is Your Boyfriend a Good Lover? _I got a 100 out of a possible 100 points."

"Shocker," Cuddy said.

She flipped through the magazine.

"Oh, here's another one," she said, chuckling. "_Is Your Boyfriend Romantic?_ Let's take this one together, shall we?"

"Oh boy," he said.

"It'll be fun. Plus you have to be nice to me because I'm sick," she said.

He sighed.

"Scoot over, Sneezy."

He lay down next to her on the bed.

She grabbed a pencil off the nightstand and began to read:

"_His idea of a romantic night is:_ _a. To wine and dine you and maybe trip the light fantastic._"

"Trip the light fantastic?" House interrupted. "What kind of dumb expression is that? Plus, I'm a gimp. I have a Get Out of the Dance Club Free card."

"Don't interrupt," she scolded. "Definitely not a. How bout _b. Sitting in his underwear on the couch watching sports_?"

He snorted. "I don't watch sports."

"No, but substitute a Real Housewives marathon and they're onto something."

"Pfffft," House said.

"Okay, how bout _c. You never know. He's spontaneous and unpredictable and that's part of his charm_."

"There ya go," said House. "C."

"Spontaneous?" she scoffed. "You're the ultimate creature of habit."

"And one of those habits is being spontaneous."

"Huh," she said, checking a box. "I'm sticking with B."

"I am protesting this quiz already. Next question."

Cuddy read on: "For your last birthday he . . . _a. Surprised you by cooking a romantic dinner for two_."

"Whoever this 'a' guys is, he's a real sap," said House.

"_b. Brought flowers to your office_," she read.

"I did that! I did that!" House said, triumphantly.

"It wasn't my birthday," Cuddy said. "And they were flowers stolen from a patient's room. But partial credit, I guess. . . or _c. Blindfolded you and took you on a secret, romantic getaway_."

"I'm pretty sure that's a felony in 12 states," House said.

Cuddy held up the magazine and squinted at it.

"Huh? Nothing about forgetting your birthday and overcompensating with an ugly anatomically correct heart tattoo?"

"I'm an original, baby," he said. "Keep reading."  
>"<em>He makes you feel loved every day by a. Telling anyone who will listen how much he loves you.<em>"  
>"I'm telling you, this 'a' guy needs help. He's got no penis."<p>

"Then how bout b? _By constantly complimenting you and telling you how great you are. . ._" She looked at him skeptically. "I think not."

"Hey, I'm always complimenting you!"

"No, House, telling me all the dirty things you want to do to me when we get home is NOT the same as complimenting me."

"In my world it is."

"Then there's _c. By proposing to you_."

"It does NOT say that!"

She showed him the question.

"Damn," he said. "Whose side is this magazine on?"

"Team Estrogen," she said.

"Next time, I'm buying you Popular Mechanics."

"Or d," Cuddy said, snatching the magazine away from him. "He makes you feel loved by taking such unexpectedly good care of you when you're sick that you feel like the luckiest girl in the whole wide world." She snuggled closer to him.

"Now I _know_ it doesn't say that," he said, with a slightly proud smile.

"But that doesn't make it any less true."

THE END


End file.
